Cocooning

He Loves Us
(lyrics by Kim Walker)

He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane
I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy
When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by Glory
And I realize just how beautiful you are and how great your affections are for me

Oh how he loves us, so
Oh How he loves us,
how he loves us so

He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane
I am a tree
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy
When all of a sudden I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by Glory
And I realize just how beautiful you are
and how great your affections are for me

And oh, how he loves us so,
Oh how he loves us,
how he loves us so
Yeah he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves

We are his portion and he is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in his eyes
If grace is an ocean we’re all sinking
So, heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
when I think about the way He loves us

Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves
Yeah, he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

He loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves us
Oh how he loves

I watched Legends of the Fall the other night. Remember that movie? Anthony Hopkins, Aidan Quinn, Henry Thomas, Brad Pitt? Hopkins plays Colonel Ludlow, an old war hero who is disillusioned with the evils of civilization. So he builds a homestead on the mountainside, hoping to create a new paradise for his wife and three boys. He embarks on a quest to "lose the madness over the mountains and begin again."

And yet, even in an unadulterated setting, the wife leaves, and the boys--raised alone by Ludlow--struggle with pride, envy, ego. Despite radical efforts to protect his sons, all three boys follow in Ludlow's regretted footsteps -- they enlist in Europe's first World War. And as the movie-title suggests, the Fall is legendary, unescapable.

The youngest "treasured" son, Samuel, (played by Thomas) is killed in the war, essentially because of his glory-seeking idealism. Alfred (Quinn) returns from the war and turns on his law-evading family by pursuing politics to "govern" some good. The wayward, "wild" son is Tristan (Pitt) who runs from his war-wounds by becoming a ruthless hunter, debasing and devaluing himself.

It's a gut-wrenching story. The Father's fierce love for his children, the only redeeming thread.

I identify with all three boys -- sometimes rebellious and war-wounded, sometimes determined to overcome evil by following the letter of the law, sometimes idealistic and glory-seeking. The movie--a mirror for me--reflecting back cyclical patterns of un-love, dis-trust, anger, envy, pride.

I went forward on Sunday when the pastor invited children to come up for a sermon on "mirrors." I figured my rambunctious (and often wayward) five-year old would need help being a "good listener." A large, rectangular mirror was leaning against the altar horizontally, at eye-level, for those of us sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Anyone who listens to the Word," Pastor started, "and does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. "

After reading the verse, he asked, "How many of you actually look into a mirror, like James 1:23 says, and then forget what you look like?"

Nobody raised their hand.

"It's kind of silly, isn't it?" he asked. "Who looks into a mirror and forgets? Do you fix your hair, adjust your clothes, walk away, and then forget? Or do you remember?"

Most kids agreed (including myself) that they DO remember what they look like, and that the verse didn't really make sense.

Until Pastor put it this way. . .

"The Bible is a mirror. And when we look into it and walk away, do we remember what we look like? Do we remember that we are children of God, fiercely loved and completely forgiven? Or do we live like we forget?"

Lately, I live like I forget. I'm all too aware of my place in The Fall. And it's been a LOOOONG time since I've taken a good look in God's mirror. I can identify with Colonel Ludlow's quest to "lose the madness over the mountains and begin again." I am eager to stand before God's word more faithfully, so he can remind me of my true condition after The Fall:

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" (2 Cor 5:17)

"For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of the light." (Eph 5:8)

"Awake, awake, Cheri, clothe yourself with strength. Put on your garments of splendor. Shake off your dust; Rise up, sit enthroned. Free yourself from the chains on your neck, O captive Daughter of Zion. For this is what the Lord says: 'You were sold for nothing and without money you will be redeemed.'" (Isaiah 52:1-3)

The Bible--a perfect mirror for me--reflecting my true nature, the beauty forged from God's faithful, fierce, redeeming love. A love that looks at me and never forgets the Cross.

I was tooling towards Como Zoo with all three kids in the backseat when suddenly I realized I was heading south instead of north on 35W. Road construction was terrible. With all the lanes veering this way and that, somehow I ended up in an exit lane going the wrong direction. No big deal, I thought. Just get off at the next exit ramp and turn around.

But with all the detour signs and closed entrance ramps, what should have been a 40-minute trip ended up taking 1 1/2 hours. When I realized how far off course we'd actually gone, I felt like a tiny mouse in an impossible maze. I almost gave up. "Kids, we're so off the mark, I don't even know if I have enough gas to get all the way to St. Paul and back."

They were disappointed. I was mad, and talking to myself: Life is full of detours, Cheri, learn to embrace them. Maybe life IS a detour, and you're so angry about having to abandon your own map and plans that you're missing it! Stick with this. Enjoy the journey. Be an example to your kids.

But I think my higher-self was stuck in the trunk. My steering wheel will attest to the frustration and anger it --and everyone else in the car-- endured. I turned into the Wicked Witch of the West (only difference is I was going south). We made it to the Zoo, fueled only by my spite for the god of detours--the one who makes any human effort to arrive at a mapped destination seem insignificant and small.

And if you doubt there is such a god, can you please explain how we got lost on the way home, too?

It took me 2 days to de-compress. Because the Zoo-fiasco is simply magnifying how I feel about life in general. Two job opportunities that had me flying high with expectation and a new vision for my future crash-landed. My sister's fight with cancer, and watching the toll it is taking on her kids and husband (and also my mom and dad who are live-in help), is terribly sad. And my waitressing job (its scheduling issues, poor tipping from guests, etc) continues to thwart dedicated efforts to make ends meet.

Detour. Detour. Detour. I feel like I walk around with a permanent lump in my throat.

And yet God continues to speak through caterpillar (now in chrysallis) hanging from milkweed in my kitchen window. The road from caterpillar to butterfly includes a detour. We "watchers" expect the chrysallis phase, and even welcome it, because we know it's part of God's design. But does the caterpillar know the bigger picture? Does he think he's dying when he's hanging in that upside down J? Does he know he will emerge, in time, with wings?

Lord, help me to trust that I will get there (wherever "there" is) in your time and way. And help me to live in a state of grace, cherishing EVERY phase of the journey.

(Detour sign from FreePhoto.com)

After all these years, the thrill of watching a caterpillar transform is not lost to me.

The caterpillars are harder to find this year, so the Monarch population must be down. But after days and days of scouring milkweed at a nearby pond, I finally found one. The amazing thing is that 3 days after bringing it home and setting the leafy milkweed in a jar, the caterpillar formed its chrysallis. And yesterday our new butterfly was born!

We share a path
of cattails and milkweed
nests of new goslings
birch trees shedding paper
thin skin

Your sleeves long are rolled
to the wrist, cuffed
like navy-man's cap over brow of
phantom fingers, once strong hand
surrendered, given

to war?
defective birth?
angry machine?

You see me see you, and
delicate as a butterfly's wing
slip that arm behind
your back, protective (Of me? Of you? Should pain be polite?)
the loss an untold story,
a link where we connect

I am marching bolder now, or so it seems,
my own hand thrust before me, bearing
traditional summer torch:
pond treasure, milk-bleeding, with
cocoon-ready caterpillar clinging
to bobbing, leafy stalk

Our paths pass.
"Is that heron back there blue?" you ask
before tripping, embarrassed, on a grass-covered root

I hold my torch higher
so we can bear witness, both
to Monarch's promise

I know you fellow pond-walker
wound-wearing friend of
light-winged dragons
able-legged frogs
and willows weeping